


Not Quite Magic

by greygerbil



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU: Carver Works For Cullen, AU: Felix Survives, M/M, Templar Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 06:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20635010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Working under Commander Cullen for the Inquisition, Carver meets many strange people, but Felix Alexius may be the most interesting one.





	Not Quite Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cinereous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/gifts).

When Carver had heard from Commander Cullen that there would be Tevinter magisters with the Inquisition, he had resolved to keep an eye on them. Dorian Pavus did not come off exactly as the stereotype of the raving madman bathing in the blood of his slaves, to be true, but his self-confidence and smug charm combined with the hair-rising necromancy skills he wielded were a potent enough combination to leave Carver feeling uneasy around him. Gereon Alexius, in contrast, was the very definition of the sort of nightmare older Templars always spoke of when they talked of Tevinter. What Carver had heard of the strange other place the Inquisitor and Dorian had visited, and which Gereon had brought about, sounded absolutely horrific.

Then there was Felix Alexius.

When they’d left Haven, Felix had barely been on his feet, reeling from a treatment the odd elven apostate Solas had given him for his blight sickness. Carver had expected him to be one of the people who would have to be left behind, buried in the snow drifts for a grave.

Somehow he’d pulled through, though, ashen skin stretched over jutting bones, looking like a walking corpse by the time they had reached the fortress in the mountains. It was his quiet resilience that had first drawn Carver’s attention, free of complaints and with a smile ready for people who lent him a hand, which was most often Dorian, who would hover by his side and make jokes to hide the disquiet in his voice. He reminded Carver a lot of his brother in those moments.

Once in Skyhold, Carver noted, from glimpses across the courtyard and down the battlements, that Felix’s health was improving. He could walk without stumbling and at least sit by all the assemblies. He stayed with the mages in their quarters now, though Carver had never really seen him do any magic. Sometimes, he would come to the Herald’s Rest with Dorian, where at some point Ewald, an Inquisition soldier, introduced them.

“Felix, this is the brother of the Champion of Kirkwall,” Ewald told him as he slapped Carver on the shoulder.

After ten years, Carver did not flinch anymore to hear himself addressed so, but it hardly cheered him, either. 

“Hello. I’m the son of the man in the prison cell,” Felix said with a small smile.

The echo of his own introduction chased away some of Carver’s foul mood, though he’d planned to be cross a little while longer.

“Carver,” he answered, almost grinning.

Ewald dragged him over to the next man he’d struck up a friendship with as Carver still looked over his shoulder at Felix.

-

The next time they met, Felix was more dragging than carrying along two buckets of water in his bony hands. Carver watched him for a moment from his post up on the wall before he came up behind him and took one out of his hand.

“What do you need all this water for?”

“Ah – Carver, yes? They are experimenting with ice magic in the tower,” Felix said, hesitating briefly before he let go off the second bucket completely and wrapped both hands around the handle of the other, a small exhale escaping him. “I figured I would make myself useful somehow. I’ve done nothing but lie in a bed most days I have been here. It’s a bit disheartening when people around you are trying to save the world.”

“They claim you were sick with the taint,” Carver said, as they descended the stairs together, Felix setting a laboured, slow place. “Did you really beat it?”

“I think I did, even though I figured my father had tried everything. Solas knows magic that is beyond even the art of Tevinter magisters.” He smiled. “He did say the most important factor was that I got lucky, though. I survived it for six years – I had a high natural resistance.”

“I’ll say. I’ve seen a man succumb to the taint in under two hours once.”

The old image of Aveline’s first husband came to his mind, his dead eyes staring ahead as he laid in the dust next to Bethany’s broken body.

“Oh yes, your family fled from Ferelden, from what I read in the _Tale of the Champion_. That must have been harrowing. Did you see much of the Blight?”

“I was at Ostagar,” Carver answered. “I basically fled from the darkspawn to join up with my family in Lothering just as it burned down.”

“I couldn’t imagine. You must tell me sometime – if you wish. I know it might not be something you’d like to look back on.”

The polite way in which Felix addressed him was disorienting. As Carver looked at him, searching for a reason why this noble mage would be so friendly, he found his gaze catching briefly on his full lips and deep, dark eyes. Had he not looked so sick, he would have been very handsome.

Even with the Circles blown to bits, it was not a good thought to have for a Templar. Carver tried to chase it away.

“Over a drink maybe. I’m gonna need ale for that.”

Felix chuckled somewhat breathlessly as he stopped by the door to the mage’s quarters.

“Thank you for your help.”

“It’s nothing.” Carver put the bucket down before, after a moment’s hesitation, he added: “I’m sure no one would blame you if you rested longer.”

“I might, though,” Felix said, shouldering the door open.

-

Ostagar was the story of the Warden; the flight from Kirkwall was the story of the Champion. Whenever he told of either, people would ask about his brother or try to get him to remember if he had seen glimpses of the Hero of Ferelden as he tried to flee with his life and help as many of those who hadn’t fallen yet to do the same.

As they sat in the back of the Herald’s Rest nursing their drinks, Felix didn’t seem to have any questions of that sort. He listened with interest to the whole tale as Carver remembered it, the memories of half-forgotten comrades that Carver told, and he asked about the battles Carver had fought on his way back home.

“You were very brave to stand at Ostagar,” he said, finally, in a brief lull of the conversation.

Carver looked up with a small frown, wondering if it was a sarcastic remark. “Well, someone had to do something, and I didn’t have my family’s safety to worry about yet,” he said, almost indignantly.

“Still, facing darkspawn head-on is terrifying,” Felix answered thoughtfully, digging his blunt, chipped nail into the face of the wooden table. There was a haunted look in his eyes for a moment before he shook his head. “The people of Ferelden are lucky men and women like you signed up to fight with your king.”

Carver found himself a little tongue-tied. He didn’t often get compliments like this.

“What did you do before you got sick?” he asked.

“I studied in Orlais,” Felix said, raising his head.

“Really? What for? I thought you had the best colleges for mages in Tevinter.”

“That’s true, but I’m barely a mage. They didn’t even think I had to go to the circle when I was in Val Royeaux. I studied mathematics.”

This seemed odd to Carver.

“I thought all noble families in Tevinter were only made of mages.”

“In Tevinter, high-class families breed for mages, yes, but that sort of thing doesn’t always work,” Felix explained matter-of-factly. “Even if you pair only healthy, strong horses for a hundred years, at some point you will get one born with a crooked leg and missing eye. That’s me.”

“I was also the only one of us three siblings without magic,” Carver said. “It was always a bit – odd, I suppose. Not that I wanted to be a mage,” he added, quickly. “Just since I basically already lived the life of an apostate.”

Still, he wondered if his father would have paid him more attention if he had been able to do magic; if he would have been as talented as Garrett was.

“Your father was a mage, too, was he not? Dorian tells me he sealed the prison that housed Corypheus.”

Carver nodded his head as Felix regarded him with interest.

“It almost makes you believe in fate that we would meet here. Your father worked to shut Corypheus away, and mine would have set him truly loose upon the world.”

“I guess so… but we’re more than our fathers, aren’t we?”

Because the great things his father had apparently been capable of were all not of the sort that Carver could emulate – that was for Garrett. He had to forge his own way.

“I should certainly pray I will be,” Felix said with a lopsided smile.

Carver had to grin. He lifted his cup.

“To _our_ legacy, then, not our family names.”

-

Whenever they met at Skyhold now, Felix would greet Carver, taking a moment out of whatever conversation or activity he was caught up in to exchange a few words. As his strength was returning, Carver would also cross his path more often on his patrol routes on the battlements. It became habit to discuss the latest Inquisition rumours with Felix as they both overlooked the mountains that stretched into the sky.

It was one late evening when Carver was stationed on the wall once more when Felix came to him for the first time instead of simply running into him. Carver was huddled in a small corner between a tower and the merlons, watching the thick swirl of snow sink out of low grey clouds, when someone tapped him on the shoulder, the sound hollow against his armour. Carver turned.

Felix had drawn up the hood of his outfit to shield himself from the snow. There were small spikes of fabric jutting out from it that fluttered in the wind. In his hands was a wooden mug, the steam rising from it carried away by the cold gusts.

“They are cooking spiced wine at the Herald’s Rest. It’s not a lot of alcohol, so I figured it should be fine even on duty. At least you won’t freeze to the spot.”

Carefully, Carver clasped his hand around it. The armoured gloves he wore did not allow him to feel the heat, but as he sipped it, the sweet warmth ran down through him like liquid fire. He shivered pleasantly.

“Did someone send you to bring that?” he asked.

“No,” Felix answered and gave him a smile, tugging at the corner of his hood to protect himself from another harsh squall.

Carver wondered how he came to the pleasure, then, but figured maybe it was better not to ask. He liked to imagine Felix had simply thought of him.

“Commander Cullen has you Templars reinforcing the Inquisition guard rosters a lot.”

“Some of us have been with him for a long while. We’re basically his lieutenants here,” Carver said, not without pride, before he took another sip. “I have known him for almost a decade.”

Felix nodded his head.

“Can I ask what made you choose to be a Templar all those years ago?” he asked, glancing out into the darkness filled with dancing snowflakes.

“I figured it’d be a place to make something out of myself. And – someone has to protect the people, I guess.” A couple of years short of thirty and with Templars turning into red-stained abominations around them, Carver thought the words sounded exceptionally foolish even in his own ears. He regretted them as soon as he’d spoken. “Not much of that happening in Kirkwall, of course. I believe in the Order, but I joined my brother, in the end.”

“Sometimes you have to make a decision for your conscience,” Felix said with a nod.

“What are Templars for in Tevinter? Are they any?”

“Yes, but mostly, they just enforce Imperial Law. If they apprehend maleficarum it’s only the ones not powerful enough to protect themselves against allegations and most of the time they have done a lot less than those who accuse them.” Felix shook his head. “I had them standing on my doorstep half a dozen times for some imagined crime I wouldn’t even be powerful enough to commit, sent by family members who think they would do better with my inheritance than someone who has so little magic. My father’s influence protected me. I don’t know what it will be like when I return. I suppose I’m one of the few Tevinter magisters who actually has a reason to fear Templars now.” He raised his gaze to the storm clouds overhead. “I’m sure there could be a balance. The Southern Templars were obviously too harsh, but ours are too weak to help anyone but those already in power.”

“That’s disgraceful,” Carver said with a frown.

“Just another one of the many cogs in the Imperium that needs adjusting.” Felix trembled, tugging his robes tighter around himself. “If you and Commander Cullen could grow into the soldiers you are in Kirkwall under Meredith, then I’m sure there must be at least some honourable people among our Templars, too, waiting for a chance to prove themselves.”

“It’s not like I don’t have regrets from that time,” Cullen admitted quietly. He didn’t think he’d ever told anyone so directly.

“Don’t we all? Tevinter is not good to many. I profited greatly from that being born into the sort of family I was, even if I had a lot of trouble for my lack of magic.” Felix glanced at him and smiled. “But we can do better.”

The staunch certainty in his voice almost made Carver believe it.

Another gust of wind swept down the battlements. Felix winced.

“You should get inside. You’re still not completely recovered,” Carver admonished.

“You sound like my father,” Felix teased. “But I guess you’re right. I hope your shift is over soon.”

-

The wound on his arm burned like fire, but at least the bleeding had slowed down. Carver leaned against the courtyard wall as he watched the healers tend to his fellow soldiers, sitting on the meadow before the mage’s tower if they could, stretched out in the grass when it wasn’t possible anymore. Aside from Anne and Tilla, who were still standing, the rest had gotten it much worse than Carver and there were a few of the nobles they had protected who looked ready to pass out from shock. Carver could wait.

“Carver!” Glancing to the side, he saw Felix hurrying towards him through an open doorway, staring anxiously down at Carver’s arm. “What happened to you?”

For the first time since he’d known Felix, his voice had lost its calm; he hadn’t sounded this worried even for himself on the journey to Skyhold.

“It’s not so bad,” Carver was quick to say. “We were escorting some diplomats from Orlais when wolves attacked and that noise drew a couple of starved bears, too.” He held out his arm, which was laced with the huge claw marks one of the beasts had left on him. “That’s the worst of it. Had to put my arm up to block a blow. I am waiting my turn.”

Felix took a small breath and nodded his head. He knelt down next to Carver in the high grass.

“Would you let me take a look? I’m not much of a healer, but I know a little,” he said, less disquieted now.

“Sure.”

Carver watched Felix as he gently turned his arm in his hands. After regarding the wound, he took a clean woollen rag from one of the brass bowls of water the physicians and healers had prepared and began to wipe the skin and raw flesh with careful, precise movements. When Carver hissed, Felix gave him an apologetic look.

“It looks painful, although Eward made it sound like you barely got out with a sliver of life left,” he said, wetting the cloth again.

“You know he likes to exaggerate.”

Still, the idea that Felix had come running in a panic at such news made Carver perk up a bit. He gave his best not to let the pain show as Felix cleaned his wound.

“I think I can stop the bleeding, at least.”

Felix let his hand hover over the wound and closed his eyes, brows knit in concentration. Carver felt the familiar warmth of a healing spell tug at his flesh, though it was but a small flame compared to some he’d known. Felix could really not be very talented, as even this much had the muscles in his neck and arm straining as he tried to keep up the energy; but at least the wound closed, though it was hardly fully healed.

“I’m glad that was the worst of it for you,” Felix said, looking truly relieved. “I won’t bandage it yet so the other healers can help you more later. Can I do anything else for you?”

Carver had no idea if it was the fire of the fight still running through him, shortening the connection between his mind and tongue, or the gentle look in Felix’s eyes, but what came out of his mouth was: “Wouldn’t object to you kissing it better.”

They stared at each other for a moment, silence stretching between them. Carver could have kicked himself. He should have done this differently – at least figured out if Felix even like men, for a start.

Then, Felix leaned forward and placed a kiss on his mouth, just a quick, experimental brush of their lips.

“I’m not sure if it will do anything, but it can’t be worse than my healing spells,” he said and smiled.

-

“I’m just saying, he’s not as cuddly as the Templars where we come from.”

Carver halted in the stairwell. Dorian’s voice was quiet from a distance, but the library was empty this time of night expect for him and that tranquil who did research for the Inquisition and so Carver could still hear him clearly from here.

“I know they train them differently here, Dorian, but Carver is not cruel. You get along with Commander Cullen, too, don’t you?” Felix’s voice answered.

“Enough for the occasional game of chess, maybe. I haven’t let him drag me behind a tavern for a drunken make-out.”

“We weren’t drunk, to be fair.”

The answering chuckle was light, but Carver heard a trace of concern in Dorian’s voice as he added: “I know it’s been six years since you could last be with somebody. I’d want to make up for lost time, too! I don’t begrudge you a handsome Fereldan in armour if that were all you wanted out of it. I know you, though. You get caught up in things.”

“I’m not with him because he was the first one to ask me to bed after the taint left me. I truly enjoy his company.”

“Yes, I’m saying that’s _more_ worrying, Felix.”

Felix just laughed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, Dorian.”

He was still glancing over his shoulder as he descended the first steps of the stairs. When he turned and saw Carver looking up at him, he tensed for a moment in surprise before his expression dissolved into a smile.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“I was looking for you. Figured you’d be with Dorian if you weren’t in the tower,” Carver said in a hushed voice.

Felix joined him and they walked downwards together.

“How much of that did you hear?” Felix asked.

“Enough. He doesn’t trust me, does he?”

“He will,” Felix answered. “I’ve never known Dorian to remain at odds with a good man for no reason.”

When he grabbed Carver’s hand and gave it a squeeze, Carver felt heat creeping into his cheeks, hoping the twilight of the staircase hid the fact. He had to admit that Felix made it easy to want to live up to his expectations.


End file.
